


No Sugar, Just Spice

by ThatLittleEnglishLass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dorks in Love, Elita is a flirt, F/M, Gen, Married Dorks, Ratchet is scary, Romantic Fluff, So much love omg, also threats, bc of course she would be, specifically threats of Ratchet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatLittleEnglishLass/pseuds/ThatLittleEnglishLass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus is used to burning the candle at both ends. Too bad Elita's not having any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sugar, Just Spice

The gentle quiet of the early morning permeated the air of the darkened room. The peaceful spell was punctuated every so often by the soft sounds of data-pads being picked up or put down, and the steadily cycling systems of the mech valiantly attempting to make a dent in what seemed to be a small mountain of data-pads beside him. The harsh green glow of the holo-screen illuminated the weary cobalt optics set in the ever present expression of utmost patience as he reached for yet another data-pad. He glanced at it briefly before inserting it into the terminal and pulling the information into the centre of the holo-screen.

The Last Prime vented softly and passed a hand across his helm as the throbbing in his temple peaked once more, his optics deactivating. He allowed himself a few moments rest as he waited for the sharp pain to lessen, permitting entry to some wishful thoughts of retiring to the berth beside his sparkmate, curling up beside her, and forgetting the world. Reactivating his optics, Optimus glanced across the room at the recharging figure of Elita, her slender form awkwardly and adorably sprawled out across the berth as though to compensate for his absence somehow. He found solace in the fact that she at least was currently wrapped in the warm blanket of sleep, feeling the waves of her spark swaying peacefully in tune with his. A gentle smile graced his features.

Turning back to the lengthy report from Prowl he was supposed to be reading, Optimus scanned the first few lines of symbols and vented once more. Apparently Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had thought it tremendously amusing to hide dairy products in the vehicle of a certain Theodore Galloway on a particularly warm day. They had found it even more amusing when they figured out that the man in question would not be returning to the vehicle for the rest of the day, as they put it when interrogated by the SIC, ‘allowing the fragrance to reach full capacity’.

Optimus felt the corner of his mouth twitch and swiftly pushed down the laughter that threatened to engulf him, telling himself that no, it wasn’t funny at all and even if it had been funny, which it most definitely was not, he would be the one who had to deal with the wretched man and tolerate what could possibly be an hour or so of derogatory language and wild accusations of anything from rampant insubordination to personal vendettas.

Optimus drew up a response, detailing a suitable punishment for the twins. He decided that since it was just a very minor prank, the brig would not be necessary. Instead, he was sure Ratchet would be happy to supervise the twins as they cleaned the med-bay from top to bottom. Possibly a bit too happy.

With that report finished, he turned his attention towards the next one. Red Alert had logged Jazz sneaking out of the base several times during the week, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence in itself, but the fact that the saboteur was returning with scuff marks and dents every time certainly needed addressing. Optimus scheduled a meeting with Jazz and Prowl for the afternoon, deciding it would be better to confront Jazz about his excursions while his sparkmate was there to verify anything. At worst, he assumed illegal street racing was involved and at best the saboteur was chasing down criminals. Knowing Jazz as well as he did, Optimus hypothesised it was probably a bit of both.

The Last Prime sat back in his chair and deactivated his optics, feeling exhaustion collapse over his limbs. He knew he really should recharge, but he only had a few more reports to go through and it was only-ah…three in the morning…no matter, he still had plenty time to finish off the reports and still get sufficient recharge.

He reactivated his optics and stared at the screen as he reached for the next pad, but he felt a hand gently stop him. Tearing his optics away from the display, he found himself staring into the sky-blue depths of his sparkmate’s gaze. He smiled, curling his hand around hers. He had been so absorbed in his task he hadn’t noticed her approach.

“What are you doing awake, love?” He asked.

Elita pulled her hand free and instead placed both on her hips. “I’ll not mince words here Optimus. If you don’t drag that fine aft of yours to recharge right now…then I’m sorry, but I will simply have no choice but to take the most drastic of measures.”

“Oh?” The Prime fought to keep his smile hidden. “And what, pray tell, would you happen to qualify as ‘the most drastic of measures’?”

“I’ll snitch to Ratchet and let him… _convince_ you.”

Optimus faked an expression of horror, while Elita casually and oh-so wickedly draped herself on the edge of the desk, pretending to inspect her digits.

“Now darling, I would say it would hurt me a lot more that it would hurt you…but we both know that would be a blatant lie.”

Optimus did his very best to muster a frown. “You are a sadist, I swear.”

Elita threw back her helm and laughed. Optimus treasured the sound. He had missed her strong, rich voice greatly during the long, lonely eons they were separated. His spark had ached relentlessly each quiet day that should have been filled with her spontaneous outbursts of song or laughter, the absence of the melodies bouncing off the walls stinging harshly with every second that dragged past. He shook his helm slightly. He did not wish to dwell on such memories.

Still chuckling, Elita decided to drop herself unceremoniously onto his lap and placed her helm on his shoulder. Optimus had no intent to protest the contact. He cradled her precious red and white form against his own, deactivating his optics and rested his forehead against the top of her helm. Their sparks sang softly at the closeness.

“I know what you’re doing, by the way.”

Elita sat up straight and slowly raised an optic ridge at her sparkmate, who smiled tenderly at her and stroked her cheek-plating.

“I’m not doing anything.” She said, her voice far too innocent.

“You are trying to entice me into recharging by demonstrating the things I am missing while over here instead of over there.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“ _Fabulous._ ”

There were a few moments of comfortable silence, in which Optimus decided not to comment on his sparkmate’s exceedingly smug expression and instead resumed his previous activity, reaching for the next data-pad with one hand. Elita tutted and lightly tapped his arm, fixing him with a glare Ratchet would have been proud of.

“Optimus, you need to recharge! You’ve been running on fumes for days now. Ratchet explicitly told you to get a full-nights recharge yesterday. I don’t care how many reports you have, if they’re not emergencies then they can all wait. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this!”

Optimus vented heavily, “You are right, but -”

Elita jumped up.

“But nothing. You can voluntarily come to bed, or I rouse The Hatchet from his slumber and let him do as he pleases with you. Your choice. Either way, you’re going to sleep, but I can assure you that one way is _considerably_ more pleasant than the other.”

Optimus considered his options carefully. While he wanted to finish his reports, he had no desire to be on the receiving end of the grumpy medic’s wrenches. His processor ached enough without adding a dent on top of it. With a final glance at the pile of data-pads sat harmlessly on his desk, The Last Prime deactivated the holo-screen and stood up.

“Very well, you talked me into it.” He said, admitting final defeat. “Though I feel I must warn you, if any trouble arises from an unfinished report, I will be blaming you and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop me.”

Elita smirked. It was that dangerous quirk of her lip plates that caused the pace of the energy waves in his spark to accelerate slightly. She took advantage of the moment, stepping so close their chest plating brushed and running an elegant hand over his spark chamber armour, stopping when she heard the softest vent.

“Well then…” she began, optics gleaming beautifully. “I suppose I’ll have to explain myself if such an incident were to occur?”

“Yes, I would imagine you would be asked to submit an exhaustive statement detailing your involvement in my inability to complete the reports.” Optimus played the game, relishing every moment of their banter.

“Oh, you know me darling. I’m always very thorough with my work.”

Her smirk was _sinful_.


End file.
